


'Twas Blind (But Now I See)

by kinetikatrue



Category: Hockey RPF, Montreal Canadiens RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue
Summary: Carey's always considered PK a the kind of friend you can count on for a good story - or a great time out on the town - but nothing more. A season-ending injury and an unexpected cousin are about to combine to change that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faith_girl222 (faithgirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/gifts).



> This maybe isn't quite kidfic in the usual vein, but I hope you like it anyway. My take on the PK/Carey relationship, as depicted here, was inspired by the aftermath of PK's trade.

Nov 25, 2015

The shot isn't anything out of the ordinary: a wrister from the left dot that ends up skittering across the crease and missing the net entirely, getting cleared down towards Lundqvist. But it comes off the end of a rush and a passing sequence that has Carey shuttling from one side of the crease to the other and back again. And, sure, his knee hasn't been too happy with him for most of the game, but all that concentrated lateral movement really makes it protest. When he moves wrong, getting in position for that shot, yep, that's him flopping on the ice afterwards, feeling the chill seep through his uniform as he watches his team make the clear. He's not sure how bad it is, in the moment, when the pain and the adrenaline are both maxed out, but the way the chill's gripping him doesn't exactly bode well - and when he gets back in position, yeah. There's no question.

He sure did something - maybe bad enough to take him out again, _fuck_.

That doesn't mean he won't try and stubborn his way through it first - after all, he's a hockey player; his life is pain. But by the time the next TV timeout comes, he's made his peace with skating over to the bench, talking to the team athletic therapist - and heading back to his crease knowing that he might be getting pulled at the end of the period. He'd rather be on the ice, of course, but he's definitely hurting and once the medical guys get at him, well, it's only a quarter of the way into the season - if they want him out, he won't fight them on it.

Better to take a few more weeks now than tough things out longer and fuck it enough to put an end to his season (or, knock wood, his career).

When Chucky takes a penalty with only a couple more minutes of the 2nd left, their PK gets in position in front of Carey, just like usual. Carey settles into place, focuses on the passing cycle of the Rags' PP, getting to where he needs to be next - but every move takes more effort than the last. And when his guys block the Rags' first shot attempt and that leads to a face-off in their end, it almost feels inevitable, just like the Rags winning it and getting a shot off.

He's not out of position when Nash tips it in, but it sure feels like he might as well have been, for all he can do to stop the goal.

By the time the end of period buzzer sounds, the best he can say about those final minutes of the period is that at least he didn't let the Rags score again. He doesn't need the docs to tell him anything; he knows he's out for at least the rest of the game. All the rest and rehab he's had so far? He's starting to see that it's been a band-aid, at best. Another month on IR isn't going to cut it this time.

So, between being as in his head as that line of thinking gets him and concentrating on just putting one skate in front of the other on his way to the bench, he doesn't exactly have any attention to spare for noticing who's holding the bench door open for him.  
It's a surprise to look up, when he gets to the boards, and find that PK has attached himself to the cluster of team medical staff waiting there. He seems intent on being the guy who takes Carey's blocker, in exchange for a sympathetic fist-bump, and the rest of his gear, but in a shocking twist, he keeps his mouth shut and gets out of the way after that, so the professionals can help Carey take the final step off the ice and make his way down the tunnel. He obviously follows in their wake, since the blocker and stick and helmet are waiting in Carey's stall when he gets back to the room after the ritual prodding and poking has resulted in the conclusion Carey already knew was coming.

Then, just before the 3rd is about to start, when Carey's sitting in his stall wearing a ball cap, with Mike sitting next to him getting in the zone, PK pops up again to shout about how _they're gonna win it for Carey_ , and the rest of the team cheers - and he's left feeling oddly like that makes it even more official than the verdict the docs had passed in the training room: he's still on the team, but won't really be a part of it for however long it takes to set his MCL right.

***

Nov 30, 2015

When the doorbell rings and Mel comes thumping down the stairs to answer it, Carey's expecting pizza, not PK. 

But Mel opens the door and says, "You're not the pizza guy."

And PK's "I could be," floats in to where Carey's nesting on the sectional, knee carefully immobilized by pillows, per the team doc's orders.

And Mel snorts - Carey can imagine the unimpressed face she's making; she's only been in Montreal for three months, and she's talked a big game from the start.

And Carey can practically _feel_ his evening starting to run away from him, spurred on by one P. K. Subban.

Yep, there comes PK protesting, "Hey, I'd be great at pizza box art." And, well, it is PK - if there's way to change the play, he'll find it. 

And Mel countering, "That's not pizza delivery."

And she's not wrong, but she hasn't seen PK enter a room with a stack of pizzas on his arm. Carey's more than familiar with that particular image, as generous - even extravagant - as PK is. But that's not what he's currently faced with; even fuzzy with the good drugs his brain is up to stumbling on to _why's PK here?_ and then getting stuck on _he's gonna want an explanation_ , because Mel's been in Montreal for three months and aside from talking to management, Carey hasn't mentioned her to anybody. But whatever happens now, there's not much he can do but try and steer a little.

Anyway, he considers PK a friend, but Carey's a private kind of guy, and most of what they do together involves hockey and/or alcohol - plus, she's less than a month away from 18; it's not like he's been hiding an _infant_.

Just a no longer secret non-infant who's apparently decided to invite PK in, seeing as how they're both standing in the living room and Mel's announcing, "You've got a guest," like she doesn't know exactly who he is. Well, she doesn't know what's coming like Carey does.

And, yep, PK doesn't even bother saying 'hello', just opens with, "Carey - you didn't tell me you had a mini-you! Did she sprout full-grown from your forehead?" sounding about as excited as Carey expected - and then continues, after a dramatic pause, "Or, wait, is there a whole dramatic secret teen mother thing going on?" He even waggles his eyebrows.

Mel - the traitor - looks entertained.

Carey's got enough self-control to not actually sigh out loud, even with the good drugs in play. Mel's mom _was_ a teenager when she was born, but, "She's my cousin," he tells PK. "PK, meet Mel. Mel, PK." He thinks he's taking it pretty well, considering he's got a completely unexpected PK standing in the middle of his lounge, on top of everything else.

"I'm studying production and design at the NTS. And looking after the dogs," Mel adds - and, well, at least she hasn't decided to be awed by being in the same room as the one and only PK Subban. She's still on top of things enough to ask, "Should I let them in - it's been a while…"

The dogs were supposed to be a 'while Carey's on the road' thing, but are turning into a 'while he's supposed to be babying his knee' thing, instead. Later, when walking counts as physio, well - they'll get to that then. "Yeah, maybe." Honestly, he has no idea how long it's been, so she's probably right. 

PK's nodding, like he gets that kind of helping out your family, which, hell, he probably does; the way he takes care of the people who matter to him is one thing Carey has never faulted him for. And because he's the kind of guy who is good at small talk and all that shit, he follows that up by asking [Mel], "How do you like the course?" and walking off with her to 'help' let the dogs back in. 

So, of course, that's when the doorbell rings again - actually the pizza this time, probably.

Carey groans, but figures _fuck it_ \- he wants that pizza, too, and his knee can deal with the walk to the front door and getting the pizza to the kitchen afterwards. Anyway, he can hear the dogs barking as PK and Mel let them in, so there's a limited window before they realize something interesting is happening out front and try to get involved...

When he makes it to the kitchen with the pizza, everybody's already made themselves at home. Mel has one of her sketchbooks spread out on one end of the vast island, a drawing pencil in one hand and her tablet in the other. PK's perched on the bar stool next to hers, pointing at something on the screen and waving his other hand around in front of his chest. They're too involved in whatever they're talking about to notice Carey coming in - or even pay attention to the puddle of dog spread around their feet. Or explain the mysterious paper bag sitting on island a few feet from PK, for that matter.

So he puts the boxes down on the opposite side of the island, gets out a couple plates, snags a couple slices for himself, settles into his kitchen pillow nest - and finds himself watching PK's interactions with Mel.

He's only been home with the injured knee for a few days, and already it feels weird - more weird than being sidelined usually does, even. He's aware the difference is down to Mel, but, well, he knows what to do with kids who like hockey, who want his advice on that - kids in minor hockey, prospects and rookies - but he doesn't know what to talk to her about once they get past, like, what she wants for dinner (when she's home for dinner). She's his cousin, sure, and as interested in hockey as your average Canadian. He can see her ambition and tell she's working just as hard in her own way, but he doesn't speak the language of art. And while he's not uninterested, he's a doer, not a creator.

It's weird how PK's already slotted himself into place next to her like his brain isn't normally just as filled with hockey as Carey's.

Mel doesn't take long to get drawn out by the smell of pizza floating her way, though - but that doesn't breaks up their conversation entirely; Mel keeps on telling PK something about - jackets? - the entire time she's crossing over to the pizza, gathering up an entire box and a roll of paper towels, and walking back to her seat with them.

PK's got most of his attention on the jacket conversation, but Carey can see the look on his face when Mel opens her box of pizza. He won't ask for any - and Carey won't offer - because they both know it isn't part of the crazy strict diet his trainer has him on, which he cheats on enough in order to go drinking with the guys, as is. But it surprises him into feeling pleased that PK did show up out of the blue. He may not be paying much attention to Carey, but there's something about sitting around eating and listening to PK talk to somebody else that feels so incredibly normal. So Carey's gotta enjoy it for the both of them - this is the good stuff - because if being out with a knee injury doesn't mean he gets to eat like that, then, well, fuck that noise. He refuses to let Mel hog the pepperoni, even if she is a bottomless pit of a student.

This _really_ isn't how he was expecting his afternoon to turn out, but he might be making his peace with that…

 

He still doesn't know where the mysterious paper bag came from - or what's inside it - by the time PK leaves (to save 'les Gallys' from themselves, apparently) and Mel vanishes back upstairs with her sketchbook and a pile of cold pizza. He's got some self-restraint, though - he makes himself store the remains of the other pizza and load the dishwasher before indulging his curiosity. And then, once he does let himself look, it turns out there's not much mystery left to be had. There's a note on top, written in PK's distinctive hand, telling him to check the fridge and enjoy his care package - because he needs to hurry up and get better so PK can stop missing having Carey at his back - and signed with a row of Xs and Os. Beneath it, Carey finds a pile of braces and wraps, hot packs and cold packs, a bottle of hockey-themed gummy multi-vitamins (because Carey always has the most trouble the vegetable part of his nutrition plan and apparently PK knows this) and a hockey-themed romance (because PK has a terrible sense of humor).

When he turns to open the fridge, and finds a quart-sized takeout container of his favorite chicken corn soup, from his favorite Chinese place, well, what's he supposed to do with that?

***

Dec 10, 2015

Less than two weeks later - during which Carey mostly only sees the rest of the Habs in passing, because they're scheduling his rehab for before team practices and anyway he isn't feeling much like being around people - Carey discovers that Mel has an active and ongoing text conversation with PK, because she apparently finds his thoughts on design helpful.

Not that he knows that, the first time it comes up. No, Carey's just sitting at the island, nursing a cup of coffee, while he waits for his ride to physio to show up, when Mel wanders in. She's a whirl of oversized sweaters and fingers flying over her phone's keyboard, ping-ponging around the kitchen as she fills her travel mug with coffee and digs out an acceptable breakfast bar between text alerts. And Carey probably wouldn't have said anything to her at all aside from the usual 'good morning', except there's a moment where she's standing at the fridge, putting away the cream, when another message comes in on her phone and she says, "Yesssss!" 

She sounds so enthusiastic about whatever it is, he finds himself asking, "Good news?" Because he may mostly be focused on his own shit, but he _does_ want to know that kind of thing.

He's not expecting her to say, "PK had another great idea," all casually, like of course she texts with his teammates, and it isn't at all weird for her to say, "that conversation we had about lapels really helped me with the jacket project. Remember I told you Prof. Lapointe praised my proportions?"

He nods, because he does vaguely remember Mel saying something about proportions, but he was probably thinking about hockey or physio or hockey _and_ physio at the time and, well. He doesn't know much about the stuff she's doing, so he was probably only listening with half an ear - not like he was going to get it all anyway. He's had the art of putting in an 'uh-huh' or 'great' or whatever when appropriate down cold since Junior at least.

It's not like he doesn't care or is trying to be mean; it's just not his thing

And, of course, the whole situation is complicated by the fact that his injury means he's around a lot more than he'd expected to be and being injured means he's a lot more in his own head as he tries to work through his own rehab. So he cares, he does, but he'd find it a whole lot easier to care properly if he were having the season he expected when he agreed to the arrangement in the first place.

It sucks, but there it is.

***

Dec 18, 1015

About a week later, while the team is off on another roadie, Carey finds another unexpected teammate standing on his front steps when he hobbles out of the kitchen to answer the door. He's post-physio tired and not really up to people, but when he sees it's DSP, well, he tries to reign in his grumpiness, anyway. Kid's injured, too; he doesn't deserve Carey taking his own injury out on him.

He doesn't manage much more than a polite, "Hello," but that's still better than the 'what do you want' that's his first instinct.

DSP says, "Hi - I, uh, have a delivery for you from PK? Don't ask me what it's for - he just said I should hand it off to you and ask if I could pet your dogs." He shrugs and adds, "Apparently they're 'good for what ails for me'."

Carey's first instinct is to refuse, but, well, having the dogs _has_ made being out at least a little easier on him, and anyway, it's not DSP's fault PK can charm most people into anything. If whatever he's been sent to deliver is terrible, Carey can figure out how to get rid of it himself; at least it'll be something different to sitting on the couch watching highlights or doing another round of physio. So he sighs and says, "So, are you going to show me what it is?"

What it is turns out to be several things, which DSP takes three trips to ferry from his SUV to the stoop, going easy on his [shoulder]. First there's a box - roughly small-appliance sized - wrapped in extremely shiny paper; then a half-mannequin thing wearing a Subban jersey, with a greeting card envelope pinned to the front; and finally a narrow rectangular object, maybe half DSP's height, wrapped in the same shiny paper as the box. It's all extremely mysterious - probably exactly what PK intended - until he spots the enthusiastic 'M' on the front of the card.

And then he has an 'oh, shit' moment - because apparently he's forgotten Mel's birthday, and even though she's busy with end of term stuff and he's not fit to celebrate much of anything, now that PK's gone and been his usual extravagant self, he's pretty much obligated to at least come up with something decent in the gift department, on top of what he's already bought her for Christmas.

That's a problem for after DSP's gone, though. So, "Just a sec," he tells the kid, because the dogs are napping in the lounge, and he wants to let them into the yard before they bring Mel's gifts in.

Then it's dogs out, gifts in, and eventually, DSP out sitting at the bottom of the steps to the back deck, petting the dogs in turns and looking like they _are_ doing exactly what PK intended. Surprisingly, it's making Carey's afternoon a bit better by extension. He doesn't think he'll ever tell PK that, but it's still one more unexpected point in PK's favor.

 

By the time Mel finally wanders in, looking like she could stand to be poured into bed (and like she's poured more than a few down her throat between leaving campus and getting back), Carey almost doesn't mention the gifts. But in the end he just goes with it - Kayla always thought birthday presents were best on the big day when they were kids, and Mel might still be young enough to care, so she can probably put up with staying awake a while longer. Anyway, he managed to solve the present problem for himself after he saw DSP off, and he did okay, if he says so himself.

Carey doesn't get up from where he's sitting at the island with a beer, just says, "So, I heard somewhere it's your birthday,"

"Not for much longer," she says, but she's smiling - and looking a little less like she's about to fall over - so he guesses 'presents' was the right choice.

"Guess we'd better hurry up, then," Carey says, sliding off his stool, careful to get his good leg under him first, then starting the slow, deliberate walk to the lounge.

The dogs are sprawled across half the sectional, sound asleep, when they get there, but Mel doesn't appear to see them once she spots PK's trio of gifts. DSP arranged them nicely before leaving, but the way Mel's looking at them, they probably could've been piled up willy-nilly and gotten the same reaction. She walks straight up to them after barely a pause, though - and then turns out to be the kind of person who unwraps her presents carefully, peeling back the tape and unfolding the paper to reveal their contents.

But she's quick enough about it that Carey doesn't have to wait long to find out that the box contains what is apparently a pretty nice sewing machine, judging by the way Mel hugs it. She snorts and says, "Of course he did," over the Subban jersey covering the mannequin thing, then tugs it off - after unpinning the card - to reveal even more sewing equipment. And when she unwraps the rectangular thing, Carey is no longer surprised by it turning out to be a roll of fabric. 

She opens PK's card last, sliding a fingernail under the flap before slipping the card out to reveal a picture of some historical-looking guy and a string of French in a silly font that's apparently a dumb joke, since it gets a snicker - that trails off when she actually opens the card, finally stopped in her tracks by whatever's inside; after she shoves it at Carey, she sinks onto the sectional, almost on top of [dog] and asks, "Is he always this nice to people?" 

Carey stares down at the sizeable gift card for a fabric store tucked inside and thinks about his answer, because the thing is that he doesn't know - and he feels like he should. It's an extravagant gift, sure, but even Carey can see that it's also thoughtful and useful - because apparently PK knows enough about what a person studying costume-making needs to provide the stuff she wouldn't be able to afford (at least not in that quality) - and while extravagantly thoughtful isn't unusual for PK, does that add up to _always_? In his experience, PK doesn't do much _always_. But the soup and bag of things for Carey's knee PK left on the visit that started this whole thing are looking a bit different with Mel's question in mind, like the latest in a long line of nice things PK's done for him that hadn't seemed to mean anything much at the time, and now point up how he can't think of a single time when PK's been mean to Carey on purpose - and PK isn't a mean kind of guy, but.

"He is to people he cares about," is the only answer he can give Mel. "But so am I," and pulls the folded-up receipt for two tickets to the latest Cirque out of his pocket.

Neither of them are huggy kinds of people, but Mel doesn't hesitate once she's seen what it says, just throws her arms around him and squeezes - and it may not all be for him, but he can't find it in himself to mind too much. The things PK got her are things Carey wouldn't even think of, because, well, he hasn't put much thought into it, and besides he'd assumed the school is providing all of the equipment type things - which they are, according to Mel, but apparently there's something to be said for not having to go out into the cold to use the school equipment in the middle of the winter. And it's not like she never mentions school to him, but it's usually 'headlines' kinds of things, not this, the things most people who aren't involved don't actually care about.

Carey still doesn't understand much about what she's doing, but he thinks he wouldn't mind more of this - which he wouldn't know if it weren't for fucking PK.

***

Dec 31, 2015 - Jan 1, 2016

New Years. In Boston. Any other year, and Carey would be excited about it - the extra long evening of pump-up leading to the Winter Classic, coming together as a team, cementing their belief that they're going to beat the Bruins. He wants the win; of course he does - it's the Bruins. But he's not here to play, not even to back-up Mike. His presence is symbolic, like a totem paraded around by the Habs to remind the Big Bad Bs that _they're_ the team with Carey Price in net. Even though he hasn't been for over a month - and it's been showing in their W-L tally.

It's hockey - the truth rarely matters more than the image you present, as far as management is concerned.

Still, the truth is that he's really not feeling being at this party. If serious drinking were an option, that might help, but he's been rationing his drinks since he got here, trying to keep the mixing painkillers and alcohol to a minimum. The 'out for six weeks' management has been selling the media is another lie, and he doesn't have just two more weeks of them to get through, so he's trying to play it safe. A little. While not letting anybody see that it's getting to him.

Good thing he's not known for his smile, like some people he could name.

Like, oh, PK, who seems like he's possibly planning on talking to every single person here, and smiling just as wide the entire time. Carey got his management-ordered glad-handing over with as soon as he could; now he's strategically placed to not attract notice, camouflaged by the shadows and all the other people wearing black - and he's kinda wishing that PK would just choose one place and stick to it. Because he's not 100% sure - Carey hasn't actually seen him since he snapped that picture of PK out on the field - but it seems like listening to him talk shit might improve Carey's night. But only if Carey doesn't have to meet a whole bunch of people to do it.

So, looks like it's going to keep on being just him and his beer, lurking in the depths of this booth - _cheers_.

Somehow there's still beer left in his glass when he suddenly finds himself with company. "Making people come to you - just like you should," PK says, hanging over the high side of the booth to Carey's right, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He's trailed by the Gallys, plus DSP and a couple of the other guys - and judging by the amount of alcohol they're carrying, they're serious about bringing the party to him. 

He probably didn't actually summon them with the power of his mind - if he had that kind of super-power, he can think of better things to use it on - but so what? They're there

And when PK finally finishes playing party director and getting everybody arranged to his satisfaction, Carey ends up with Chucky to one side, PK to the other, and a topped up beer in front of him. Then PK's invading his personal space, proposing a toast, "To Monsieur Price, our lucky charm!" paired with a wink for Carey that he thinks means PK has some idea of how much he dislikes not being able to take a more active role than that.

It gets an incoherent - but sincere - cheer in response.

Carey settles himself, again - for a change finding himself not just tolerating the arm PK has draped along the back of the booth behind him, but...welcoming it, like it's drawing him further into the circle of the team, . Which, to be fair, he's literally sitting in a circle with a half-dozen of his teammates, but they're all talking across him to each other - and yet there's no question of him not being part of things. He doesn't feel like talking, or anything else, really.

He doesn't have anybody to kiss at midnight; the game they're here to play isn't his to win; he doesn't want to talk about any of it - and apparently that's okay. 

***

Jan 19, 2016

Sitting in the press box, watching his team lose, is never one of Carey's favorite things. Knowing he can't do anything, won't be able to do anything, to make things better, for the foreseeable future - well, it sucks, to put it bluntly. Watching his team roll right over the Bruins made sitting out the Winter Classic bearable. When they lost the next one, but won the one after that, well, it seemed like things might be righting themselves. But, no... this one makes five straight losses, where the Habs have only managed a single goal more games than not, while their opponents have outscored them 2 to 1. 

It's not just Mike's fault they're losing, no matter what the goal differential or his save percentage might suggest - the team shouldn't be putting him in this position to begin with - but he can't seem to pull them back from the brink.

And Carey's pretty sure that they'd be even worse off if PK hadn't been playing his heart out, trying to drag the team over the line to a win - on the ice for nearly half of every game and three-quarters of the Habs' goals, including the only one they managed to score on the night. He still isn't a model of defensive responsibility, but with the losing streak they're on, Carey can see the value in balancing defense with trying to generate more offense however you can. If you're gonna lose, it's always better to not get shut out.

For once, Carey wants to say so.

So he lingers in the box while the crowd flows out of the arena, waiting out the press scrum and all the rest of the post-game hub-bub. Then it's an elevator ride down into the bowels of le Centre Bell. And, yep, he's timed it right: the press have cleared out - nobody's getting an unexpected sound-bite out of him, tonight - and most of the guys have moved on to showering and changing.

Mike's still in his stall, so Carey stops there first, settling into what's usually his own stall to do his duty as the guy whose skates Mike's trying to fill and let's him know it's not all on him, no matter how much it might feel that way; he's still there, minus Mike, when PK wanders into the room, changed into a post-game Habs hoodie and track pants.

He's looking tired, and kind of like he's on a mission, but when he spots Carey his face lights up in a grin and he says, "Don't tell Mike, but I meant what I said in Boston - I miss having you out there behind me."

Carey snorts and says, "Not much I can do about that - not until the team docs clear me." Which isn't happening any time soon, no matter how hard he works at rehabbing his MCL.

And he tries to not let any of that show, but some of it must get through, because the next thing PK says is, "Okay, looks like you need a little of my special medicine. You want in?"

That probably means alcohol, this being PK, but it's probably good alcohol, and that doesn't sound like a bad plan right now, so Carey shrugs and says, "Sure."

"Well, follow me," PK says, and takes off - out of the room, away from the lockers.

Carey levers himself up and follows; whatever PK's leading him into, well, at least it'll be a change from his new usual. The walk is silent to start, as they wind their way up one hallway and down another, and Carey takes silent guesses at where they might be headed. It's not the training rooms, or equipment storage, or video review - or any of the odd offices that are tucked into one corner or another.

Finally PK stops at a door marked simply 'STORAGE'. He puts a key in the lock, but before he turns it he asks, "You know what makes it better? Screaming." And then the door swings open to reveal an odd assortment of things, stored in piles around the walls. "Nobody's come to investigate, yet," PK adds, and walks in.

No, Carey does not know that screaming makes it better, but watching PK demonstrate should be interesting, anyway - so into the room it is, closing the door silently behind him, plunging them into darkness.

"It sucks that we can't seem to win," PK says, from what Carey guesses is somewhere to his right, "but keeping it inside, letting it stew? That doesn't make it better. And I know you don't believe me, but screaming feels so good. Doesn't change anything else, but so what? Neither does anything else we've tried." And then he lets out this noise that's maybe technically a scream, but almost sounds like singing, the way PK pushes it out into the room, filling it with his anger and his frustration and a bunch of other stuff Carey doesn't know what to call, but can clearly be laid at the feet of this goddamn terrible season.

And Carey didn't come in planning to do it, but with PK's voice filling the rom, it's like he can't help himself, can't stop himself from howling out his impatience and his loss and the deep, terrible thing beyond that that's way more than sadness. When he's done, he feels emptied out - and so tired, like he's just played a game, plus over-time, on a back-to-back. And all he can get it together to say is, "Yeah."

"Yep," PK agrees, sounding just as tired as Carey - and then he's letting them back into the hallway, trailed by the hum of machinery, and leading Carey back to known territory.

Before he ducks back into the room, heading in to gather up his things, Carey stops him and says, "Thanks."

That gets him one more smile, small and real, and PK saying, "Of course." Which sounds like it maybe means other things, too. 

***

Jan 30-31, 2016

The further into the school - and hockey - year it gets, the busier Mel is. It's like her professors decide to ramp up the intensity every time she adjusts to her current work-load, like they think projects work like training exercises. Carey doesn't think it actually works like that, but what does he know? He did okay in high school, but he's never had any ambitions involving further education - his mom's got it covered for both of them, going to law school.

The point is, when Mel manages to be free the day of the All-Star Game competitions, it's a rare occurrence - and, the way Carey figures it, not necessarily a coincidence, given the fact that PK's one of the guys competing.

By mutual agreement, they end up on the sectional, surrounded by dogs and pizza and beer - carefully keeping the dogs and pizza separated - while they watch the commentators bullshit their way through waiting for the games to begin. It's more entertaining than usual, though, because Mel gets them playing a drinking game she apparently learned from some of the other kids in her year, where they take a drink of beer every time the commentators say certain words or phrases. Which, well, turns out to be way more often that Carey would ever have guessed. It's not enough to get either of them more than a little buzzed, but, still, it helps pass the time.

After all, Carey doesn't want to discuss how his recovery isn't going any more than Mel probably wants to talk about all the work that's been leaving her no time for anything else.

Mel's looking a little smug about something, but the drinking game _is_ pretty good, so Carey figures she's earned it. He doesn't even begin to suspect there's something more to it until the actual competitions begin and Mel comes to attention like she's waiting for something in particular. She clearly can't have been waiting for Larkin to both win Fastest Skater and break Mike Gartner's record - nobody knew that was going to happen - though she gets more and more focused on the TV the closer to the end of that they get.

And once PK's name gets announced for the Breakaway Challenge, well, Carey's not entirely sure what it would take to get her attention back, but she watches avidly as he finishes putting on the wig and helmet, skates at the net to take his two shots, and finishes the whole thing off with an extra-dramatic take on Jagr's iconic salute.

Somehow she manages to tap away at the screen of her phone the entire time, as well, only stopping when PK skates off to the side to watch Burns take his turn. Then she says, "He went for it - though, man, that wig…," and she clearly knew about it beforehand, maybe even had a hand in planning it, which, Carey has no idea where she found the time. But she did - maybe because she wanted to give him a gift of her own, maybe just because he's PK Subban - and she clearly got herself invested in the outcome, the way she cheers when the results are announced.

After that, she goes back to being normal levels of invested, cheering PK through his turns in the Hardest Shot and Shootout rounds, but taking it in stride when he doesn't claim a victory in either of them and otherwise devoting herself to team-chirping the rest of the competition with Carey; it's a tougher call than he'd expected as to whether Carey would rather be there taking part (he'd be cleared to play hockey) or have PK here joining in (he's having a pretty great time with Mel, as it is).

***

Feb 20, 2016

When Mel told him she'd been brought on as an assistant to the assistant to the third year student in charge of costumes for one of the winter productions, Carey had congratulated her and then - shamefully - forgotten about it in the midst of his never-ending rounds of physio and doctor's appointments. So when she's mentioned she'd reserved a seat for him the last day of the show, well, he'd just nodded and asked her if he needed to dress up. What else could he say? Theatre still wasn't his thing, but he didn't have anything better to do that afternoon and she wanted him there - he'd sat through worse for less reason, for sure.

She'd smirked and told him to 'do the cowboy thing' - then casually mentioned that she'd invited PK, too, as she headed out the door. 

So here he is, dressed in nearly head-to-toe black, waiting outside what is apparently a small theatre. PK isn't here, yet - though Carey isn't the only person who's already waiting to be let in - but Carey isn't betting on him not coming, given he apparently actually likes theatre. And their seats are probably together. Which isn't a problem, really, except for how Carey doesn't know anything about whatever they're going to see aside from what the poster on the wall across from him says, and he's only sure it says 'three sisters' because he's heard those words in interview questions often enough.

So he's going to sit there and not understand most of what's going on... and try and think of something about the costumes he can tell Mel afterwards, he guesses.

He's just resolved that when PK finally shows up, looking like he belongs way more than Carey, even if Carey is hardly the only one all in black.

The first thing Carey thinks when PK leans over to whisper in his ear, "This show gives teachers a bad rap," is _I didn't know he could be this quiet_ , because PK isn't a quiet person; he's a loud voice on the ice, a closet full of loud suits, fancier dancing than Carey will ever manage.

And yet PK manages to keep it up, pouring a steady stream of commentary into Carey's ear throughout what are apparently the the first two acts, letting up at intermission, and then doubling down during the second half. He has no idea how PK's managing to keep it 'for Carey's ears only', but there's no sign that the people sitting to either side of them have even noticed PK's said word one. Well, aside from how Carey's beginning to forget what it feels like when PK's lips _aren't_ touching his ear.

Intermission - which brings a little respite while PK uses the bathroom - isn't nearly enough of a break.

By the time the show ends, Carey's more than ready to go to dinner, even though that means talking about the show to Mel. Maybe he can keep his mouth stuffed with steak enough of the time, she won't notice if doesn't say much more than 'good job'. He's not sure he even caught enough of PK's commentary, much less the actual show, to say much else.

It is fine, at first.

Mel emerges from backstage a while after the actors have taken their bows. Carey gets off his 'good job' while PK says something probably insightful about the costumes. And then Carey gets to fade into the background on the walk to the restaurant, while PK and Mel discuss a whole bunch of stuff about the play that Carey probably wouldn't be up on even if he had caught much of what he was there to watch. Getting their table and ordering go about as usual - PK and Mel continue to monopolize the conversation while they wait for their food - and keeping his mouth full works about as advertised after that. 

And yet he's not done eating by the time Mel swallows her last bite of steak and announces, "Time for me to get back - costumes wait for no minion, and I've got to get them all cleaned and repaired before they're put back into storage," before dashing off a messy salute paired with a wry grin and vanishing out the restaurant's entrance.

PK's not done, either, of course - they both ordered larger meals than Mel, and PK's been slowed down by keeping up his end of his conversation with her - so there's a bit of silence in the wake of her departure, but it's a nice one, the kind that feels companionable.

And then, seemingly apropos of nothing, PK says, "You know, the ASG would've been more fun if you'd been there," smiling small and real.

And Carey knows what PK looks like when he's flirting - and this isn't quite that; it's a little more serious, a little less ridiculous - but it's disconcertingly close. Because PK's flirted at him before, but never seriously, as far as Carey could tell. Most of the flirting PK does isn't serious. But recently Carey's been wondering what he'd do if PK did try it on for real.

In this moment, at this table where they've come together to celebrate this kid who isn't actually either of theirs, he says, "Well, chirping the competition at home would've been more fun if you'd been there."

That gets an even wider smile out of PK, and an answering, "Yeah?"

And that has Carey smiling back, in perfect accord, because, "Yeah." He'd thought so at the time, and he's even more sure of it now: not being able to predict PK is part of his charm.


End file.
